Nights at 221B Baker Street
by Sh3rlock Holm3s
Summary: One Shot of a hard-working Sherlock at night and an annoyed John.


„Sherlock?! What the heck are you doing? It's in the middle of the frigging night? Oh, shut up!"  
John was stumbling out of his bedroom, wearing a blue-white pajama, his hair a totally mess and his eyes still half-closed, squinting, trying to adjust himself to the blinding light and the deafening sound. He covered his ears and closed his eyes as he entered the living room, bracing himself for the worst. But of course … it was only Sherlock. Who else could operate such an excessive scenario at 3am without taking care of neighbours, let alone flatmates?  
"Sherlock? SHERLOCK?! Goddammit turn the volume down, now!" Now John was screaming, trying desperately to drown the nerve-racking noises out. Unfortunately Sherlock did not understand a single word he said, but John's gestures and miens were quite enlightening enough. Sherlock simply hit the button of the recorder and the awful, unpleasant noises stopped. "What's wrong, John?" Sherlock asked innocently and looked him dead in the eye. John snorted, and then waved his hand dismissively. "Seriously, Sherlock. Shut the fuck up. I don't know what you're doing and I don't give a damn. Just shut up because people wanna _sleep_."  
"Oh, do they?" was the only answer he got from his friend who was already engaged into his gigantic recorder and jukeboxes again.  
"Yes, they do, Sherlock. They do." John was trying to suppress his rage. _"It's Sherlock. He doesn't know better. It's not about getting on my nerves, it's about his deductions and experiments, John. Don't spoil it." _He tried to convince himself quietly. Actually, that was the only way he managed to bear all those silly, and sometimes even childish moods, his flatmate was in. He knew quite a lot of people who admired him for putting up with Sherlock all day long, but truth to be told, he indeed enjoyed the little eccentric fooleries of his best friend, the way he took him every single day new by surprise, the way he never got bored being around Sherlock, the way he suddenly felt _useful _and _important _again since he came back from Afghanistan. But most of all he was plain and simple fascinated by Sherlock's genius.  
"Why don't you come and join me?" Sherlock suddenly offered, his eyes still fixed on all of those little, confusing buttons. He sat in the middle of the room on the floor and as far as John could tell had some problems with all of the cables that were a totally mess. To be honest, the whole room was a mess. You couldn't leave Sherlock for ten minutes alone without finding everything to be turned upside down. "Like a five-year-old" John sighed, obviously loud enough for Sherlock to perceive who rose an eyebrow questioning. Only then John recognized he had stood there for a while like frozen without making any attempt to either join him or leave. "Oh, screw it." He rolled his eyes and plopped down on the cozy sofa "I can't hope for sleep anymore anyway-thanks to you. So yeah, what are you up to?" John tried to make is voice sound as indifferent as possible but Sherlock could sense the arousing curiosity. The detective managed to suppress a smile.  
"Just an experiment." He said matter-of-factly.  
"Would have never guessed …" John deadpanned.  
"Thought so."  
Silence fell there for a few minutes, Sherlock still working meticulously while John slowly started to doze. Now everything was perfectly comfortable. No annoying noises that could wake him up, nor any other "side-effects" of Sherlock's experimenting. His anger vanished as quickly as it has arrived. He sighed pleasantly and closed his eyes, drifting away.  
A few minutes passed until John was once again awakened. He startled when all of a sudden a cold hand stroke over his back. He gave a loud shriek but the well-known voice directly behind him hushed him softly. "Don't wake up, John. Keep sleeping." Sherlock lulled calmingly. John felt how he was softly snuggled up in a warm blanket, which stood in contrast to the chilly hands still touching him. He shivered. "You okay?" Sherlock made sure. John could only nod, barely consciousness. He was not sure whether to blame it on his tiredness or on the beautiful long fingers that were now confusingly pleasant caressing his neck. His eyes were still closed and he was already relaxing again when he noticed how two strong arms pulled around his body and moved him a bit further on the other end of the sofa. Before he knew what hit him Sherlock slipped under his blanket and cuddled up with him. John's eyes were now open wide and without even being aware of it he held his breath for a few long seconds until he breathed in which such a force, that even if the jukeboxes were still on, Sherlock would have heard him perfectly. Once again silence followed. But now it was not due to tiredness but to awkwardness.  
"Ummm … I'd better leave, shouldn't I?" he perceived a sheepishly voice on his neck. With every spoken word Sherlock's breath ran over John's skin and left a thrilling feeling all over his body. "Sorry." Sherlock murmured embarrassed and was just about to turn around as John seized his hand. Sherlock froze. John squeezed his cold hand tightly and though his friend tried to move, feeling obviously uneasy, John did not let go. "No… just stay. Stay" John's voice was just a slight whisper and he wasn't even quite sure whether Sherlock had heard it or not but, however, he hesitatingly slipped back once again under the sheets and now it was John who turned around to look him directly in the eye. He didn't say anything, he simply smiled and nodded approvingly. Sherlock gave him a strained smile and closed his eyes. After a while, he finally he seemed to relax, so John rested hesitantly and tentatively his hand on his hips and drew him closer. Sherlock's eyes blinked but except this John perceived no further reaction. About two more minutes passed when Sherlock suddenly slightly lifted his head and huddled against John's chest. "Thank you" he mumbled, a smile playing upon his lips.  
"Anytime." John whispered back and he meant it. "Anytime." 


End file.
